


the package

by deadlybride



Series: A Perfect Circle [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, Post-Episode: s05e22 Swan Song, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 11:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10464342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: October 12, 2010. On a hunt with Samuel, Sam goes through the motions.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A Perfect Circle - _The Package_ , track one of _Thirteenth Step_

_Clever got me this far, then tricky got me in_  
_Eye on what I'm after, I don't need another friend_  
_Smile and drop the cliché 'til you think I'm listening_  
_I'll take just what I came for, then I'm out the door again_

 

There are things Sam has to remember, every day. Some days are harder than others.

The desk girl for the precinct is smiling at him, coquettish. He smiles back, making sure that his eyes crinkle at the corners. It’s how he looks honest. She’s hot, kind of—blonde hair, green eyes, nice enough tits. Maybe an eight. He thinks he’ll fuck her, once they murder the rugaru.

“Agent?” Samuel says, turning to go.

Sam nods, taps the case file they’ve stolen on the counter. “Thank you for your help, Madeleine,” he says, and she bites the inside of her lip. Good. He’s got her business card, with her personal cell written in curvy script on the other side. He’ll probably have to go her apartment, but at least it’ll be easy to ditch her when they’re done.

In the car, Samuel tugs his tie loose and gives him a look across the seat. “Flirting with the secretary, huh? She’s cute.”

Sam doesn’t acknowledge it. The afternoon’s cool, the sun sinking in the sky. October in Indiana, the days stretching out longer than they should. He’s always thought daylight savings was a joke.

“Okay, then,” Samuel says, once the silence has stretched. “Wait until dark, or wait until he goes to work?”

“Why wait?” Sam says. He flicks a finger at the case file. “He’s probably home now. Let’s ice him, get it over with.”

Samuel props an elbow on the steering wheel, frowns at him. “His wife’s probably home,” he says, after a second. He’s giving Sam one of those… looks. Sam looks out the window again. “Maybe we don’t scare the civilians, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. He puts on another brief smile, meets Samuel’s eyes. Steady, trustworthy. “Of course.”

He doesn’t know why it matters. The woman’s going to have a dead husband either way; what does it matter if she sees the corpse now or later? This is one of those things, though. He forgets. People are—sentimental.

Samuel wants burgers for dinner. Fine. They eat in the car, some old-man music that Samuel wants to listen to playing. Sam introduced him to CDs recently, and wishes now that he hadn’t. But, whatever. They park half a block down from the rugaru’s house, waiting for him to make a move, and Sam folds his arms, cross his ankles, settles in for a long night. Waiting is annoying. Something he remembers doing, from before. He supposes it’s part of the game.

Around eleven o’clock, Samuel starts awake. Sam keeps his eyes on the house’s dark façade. “Oh, damn, sorry,” Samuel says. He wipes his mouth. “Must’ve fallen asleep.”

Sam looks at him, across the seat. What is he supposed to say to that. So many pointless conversations. Samuel’s a good hunter—not as good as Sam, and not as good as Dean used to be—but the storehouse of knowledge, the no-nonsense attitude, that’s what Sam sticks around for. Still, it’s sometimes hard for Sam not to just beat that bald head in. He thinks he’s probably supposed to feel a little more for someone ostensibly his grandfather. He looks back at the house. No movement.

“Not all that far from Cicero,” Samuel says, after a while.

“Hour and a half,” Sam says. The house is totally dark. Maybe this is a waste of time. “Two hours, the way you drive.”

“Ha.” Samuel shifts in his seat, and Sam can tell he’s being watched. “You sure you don’t want to go see your brother?”

Sam bites back a sigh. He wishes he hadn’t told Samuel where Dean was. “Yes, I’m sure,” he says. “I wanted him to have a life, and he has it. He’s out. I’m not going to ruin that.”

Samuel grunts. “Can’t believe he managed to stay out,” he says, but it’s a more dismissive tone. Subject dropped.

There’s a brief impulse to defend Dean, but there’s no point to it. Samuel has no idea. Sam remembers. He made Dean promise. He held Dean’s face in his hands and Dean had stared at him like he was gut-shot, broken-open, and Sam remembers so clearly the shine of wet at his eyelashes, the warm give of his skin, the way he’d come for Sam, had bled and died for Sam, would give anything, even his life’s purpose, for Sam. He remembers the feeling, clearly—wanting something better for his brother. Wishing he could give even a tenth of what he’d been given. The feeling isn’t there, now.

Down the street, the door on the house opens, and out steps the rugaru under the streetlight—Mack Jenkins, age forty, no idea what’s happening to him. Pale and slavering and running with blood on his mouth.

“Whoops,” Sam says, while Samuel’s grabbing up his flamethrower from the floorboards. “Looks like Mrs. Jenkins may not have made it, after all.”

Samuel curses and throws his door open, and then Sam’s running, the hunt beating fast in his blood, finally using his body to its purpose, the spike of adrenaline filling him up, at last—

The rugaru’s burning. Sam stands close to the flames, where it’s warm. Samuel’s coughing, out of breath. Weak. Oh, well. At least he had the intel. Still—sometimes Sam wishes for his brother. Whatever his faults—and they’re many—Dean can keep up, in a way that none of the Campbells have been able to. He douses the corpse with another gout of flame, making sure that the body crisps to ash. “I’m going to wait in the car,” Samuel says, and Sam nods, puts on another smile until Samuel turns around, and then lets it fall off his face. While he waits, he pulls out the girl’s business card, looks at her cell number. Sometimes he really does wish he hadn’t made that promise. If Dean were here he would’ve gotten the hunt done faster, and when they got back to the motel—

But, no. He made the decision, back then. He must have had a good reason, even if he can’t feel it now. He watches the flames. He’ll ditch Samuel, once he’s done here. He’ll call Madeleine. He’ll have to wait through two drinks, maybe three. He’ll have to smile, pretend to give a shit about her, but he knows what he looks like and it won’t take all that long, he’s betting. Her eyes are green, which helps. She was hot enough for him that it’ll be easy to get her on her belly, to make her let him fuck her ass, to push her facedown into the pillow and imagine someone else. He feels like taking his time, tonight. He hopes she won’t cry. He hates that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [posted here on my tumblr if you'd like to reblog](zmediaoutlet.tumblr.com/post/158876441299/the-package)


End file.
